


definitely you

by illiterateidiot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 20:30:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illiterateidiot/pseuds/illiterateidiot
Summary: Sam works at a vegan coffee shop and Gabriel's his favorite customer.





	definitely you

**Friday**

There aren’t many things Sam can claim to be a perk at his job as an early-morning barista for California’s worst vegan coffee shop—according to Dean it claims that title just by being vegan in the first place—but the three things he can count on are Charlie (their finance manager who spends twenty percent of her day processing data, another twenty percent mooning over the girl in the apartment next to her, and the rest of it meddling in their personal lives like a nagging but loving little sister), the nearness to his brother’s job that allows them to, usually, share lunch, and a golden-eyed man with more jokes than height that introduced himself by declaring, “Gabriel. They call me Gabriel.” like he was letting Sam in on some secret of the universe rather than just giving him three syllables to call out when their bitter, disgusting coffee is finished brewing.

The first time Gabriel ever deigned to traverse into their little coffee shop, he didn’t even let Sam ask for his order before asking, “What do you have that’s so sullied with sugar that my teeth'll ache just from sniffing it?” and when Sam replied, “Sugar is just- it’s not a thing here,” the look on his face would’ve had an outsider guessing Sam had killed his dog—a Jack Russell Terrier named Thor, he learned the second time Gabriel came in—rather than explained their manager distrusts _any_ sugar company because, “You never _really_ know who uses the bone char method,” and the actual owner, Crowley, cares less about keeping their coffee shop afloat than he does about annoying the public. Sam is pretty sure Crowley’s looking for the business to capsize but plans on pissing everyone off in the meantime.

Though obviously they don’t carry the man’s coffee preference—they don’t even carry _Sam’s_ coffee preference—Gabriel comes in three times a week to buy a small, black (the only kind they sell) pit of poison that he’s never finished once and tends to actually glare at. Apparently torturing Sam’s psyche with awful puns, small pranks, and swapping dog stories (Bones, Sam’s Golden Retriever, is apparently the _third_ cutest dog Gabriel’s ever seen, only beaten in second by his father’s little shit of an Italian Greyhound; Lucifer. “It’s family tradition to name kids and pets after mythological figures, and Lucifer? Definitely fits that bag of dicks. Lucky for the bastard he’s cute.”) is worth the shitty coffee.

After three months of keeping her mouth (mostly) shut—Sam’s actually sort of proud of her, she’s never let him off the hook this long—Charlie slides up to Sam the second Gabriel leaves with a sly smile Sam is pretending not to understand, though still putting up a glower for defense.

“So, Gabriel, huh?” She asks, attempting to sound smooth but coming off as more of an overexcited child. “He’s been wasting coffee here for, what? Three months? You gonna make a move?”

“The coffee here is wasted on _drinking_ , Charlie,” he replies, not bothering to answer her actual question. “Seriously, Crowley definitely didn’t start this place to appeal to the public.”

“ _S_ _am_ ,” she huffs his name like he’s done her a great injustice which, knowing her interest in his personal life, he probably has. “You need to get out there! And you know what’s second best to getting out there? Asking out the dude who wastes an hour of your time thrice a damn week! I mean, _really_ , Sam, he’s not here for the coffee.”

“Maybe he likes the vibe,” he mutters, apparently taking “cute guy has a crush on you” as a personal attack these days.

“Yeah, and you know what that vibe is? The gay vibe. The very, _very_ gay vibe you’re releasing.”

“Releasing? Really?”

“Yes, Sam, really! Look, I don’t know why you’re pretending nothing’s happening ‘cause, really, I’m used to this from Dean, but you?” Sam rolls his eyes, more at the memory of Dean half-way gushing or pointedly refusing to talk about _someone_ for nearly four months without giving a name or, as Charlie helpfully supplied, a gender, than the third degree about Gabriel. He’s well-aware that he and Gabriel dance around an unspoken _thing_ that becomes more apparent the dopier Sam feels with each grin, but Gabriel is one of the three things that Sam expects out of each week, and the thought that he could ruin that by learning they aren’t compatible—clearly the things they _do_ have in common and the charm of the things they don’t are disregarded in this scenario—and won’t be able to find a single thing to talk about—clearly the fact that Gabriel spends three breaks a week just talking to Sam is ridiculous to even consider—stops him from taking the step toward something more. Gabriel will figure out Sam is not particularly interesting, and Sam’s curse to fuck up the few good things he has that’s haunted him since birth will come into the light.

He doesn’t answer and she groans. “You Winchester’s are _destroying_ me. It’s like you’ve both found incredible people but you’re- what, shy? Dean’s a blushing virgin when it comes to dudes but- well, Mystery McGee isn’t necessarily a dude but you get me. _You_ on the other hand have a more _who gives a shit, I want to be happy_ attitude when it comes to relationships, so why aren’t you already making out with golden-eyes when you should be making coffee?”

“It’s just- it’s not in the cards right now, alright?” Though her face gives away the fact that she's obviously preparing for battle, she seems to be letting his dumb excuse go for the time being, only for the topic to be revived by the man walking in.

“What’s not in the cards?” Dean asks, carrying a bag with a burger and shake-it-up salad without a care in the world that Crowley would kick him out if he were here.

“Sam’s pulling a you and refusing to let himself be happy,” Charlie sighs, earning a dual Winchester glare. She holds up her hands in a defensive manner, though her goofy grin ruins any semblance of seriousness. “Seriously, your brother? Meets this nice guy- well, no, he’s not actually very nice he’s kind of a dick, but he’s _pleasant_ and _funny_ and they obviously have a mutual attraction, but he’s not doing anything about it because the timing’s not right or some bullshit,” Dean gives Sam a _you didn’t tell me about this you little shit_ look that Sam ignores.

“I just don’t think it’ll work out, okay?” Charlie groans at Sam’s words like she wants to wring his neck. He doesn’t blame her. By way of excuses, his is pretty shit.

“Oh, yeah, it’s not like he’s _perfect for you_ or anything.”

“He’s not! You even said it, Charlie, he’s a huge dick!”

“At least your personalities match,” Dean contributes. The high-five he and Charlie share is, in Sam’s opinion, overdoing it. If Sam had more of a reason than “I don’t want to mess up a good thing” maybe he’d have a chance in this fight, but he knows he’s just making excuses to pine more. Which is dumb, he knows, because pining fucking _sucks._ But there truly is something _special_ about this annoying, hilarious guy with too much time on his hands to bug Sam at work.

“Y’know what, Dean?” He asks, at this point just being difficult. “Tell me one thing about this mystery _person_ and I’ll _consider_ asking Gabe out,” Dean immediately blanches, squaring his shoulders and taking a sip of a drink he brought from the outside.

“I’ve talked about them,” Dean mutters.

“Barely! What do they look like? Where do they work? For God’s sake, man, what’s their damn gender?” Charlie looks at Sam like he’s lost his damn mind; like he’s pushed _too_ hard, and even Sam is considering he might’ve closed Dean off from this topic for the next thousand years by the closed-off, pissed expression on his face. But just as suddenly as he closed off, his glare ceased and the pinch in his eyebrow softened to where he seem more uncomfortable than angry.

“They- _he_ ,” Dean corrects himself and Charlie looks like she’s about to fist pump the air before she controls herself. “Is a dorky dude with a stupid trench-coat and an insane obsession with bees. He was a bit, uh, _sheltered_ when I met him. I gave him his first PB and J for God’s sake. Treats the food like a damn religious experience. We live together but-” he takes a long sip of his drink, no doubt wishing it were a shot of whiskey rather than watered-down Diet Coke. Sam’s honestly proud of his brother. The guy isn’t a big fan of open, honest communication about feelings; especially about the kind he spent years pretending didn’t exist. “Anyway, that’s what? Eight things?” Dean finally continues. “When’s your beau’s next appearance supposed to be?”

“Tuesday,” he responds immediately. Charlie’s smirk almost has Sam embarrassed by the reaction time, but it’s been three months since Gabriel’s weekly Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday visits began and Sam’s stupid, pining brain have those three days of the week favorited like bookmarks on a computer.

“You know I can’t get here Tuesdays,” Dean remarks. “Next?”

“Nope, no other-”

“Wednesday,” Charlie says sweetly. Sam despises her.

“Then Wednesday I’m coming in to meet the missus and to make sure you _actually_ asked the guy out,” Dean is grinning like he got a one-up on Sam, only faltering once he’s asked:

“ _You’re_ coming in at eight in the morning?”

**Tuesday**

“Nobody’s holding a gun to your head to work here, Sam. Just quit!” Sam rolls his eyes at the suggestion, but Gabriel’s apparently not done. “Seriously, burn the damn apron and work somewhere that doesn’t serve actual _sludge_! Work at Starbucks for God’s sake, just somewhere with something _sweet_.”

“If watching you suffer weren’t so appealing I’d consider it,” Sam counters. He’s met with a mirrored rolling of eyes but a familiar, warm smile that certainly _does not_ (100% does) make Sam’s stomach flip-flop with ludicrous butterflies. 

“Y’know, there is _one_ perk to you working at this desolate wasteland of black coffee and empty tables,” before Sam can get out an, “oh yeah, what’s that?” he’s momentarily frozen staring into the suddenly serious golden eyes that have simultaneously haunted and—for lack of a better word that _doesn’t_ make him feel like a sixteen year old falling in love for the first time—blessed his dreams. “I don't have to share you with anyone else.” It's odd for Gabriel to say anything that resembles _sweet_ , so Sam's body isn’t just frozen by the captivation of Gabriel's eyes but he is very suddenly breathless. Usually Sam is quick to quip with Gabriel no matter what the guy throws at him, but the way he said it has Sam embarrassingly tongue-tied.

“Yeah,” he responds dumbly. “Yeah, that’s certainly a perk.” Gabriel looks smug, like making Sam speechless was the reaction he was hoping for.

“So,” Gabriel starts, far too nonchalantly for it to truly be nonchalant. “You got plans tomorrow night?” He takes a sip of his coffee before seeming to realize what he’s doing. “Gah!” He sputters, making increasingly disgusted faces. The display makes Sam forget how flustered he was and laugh.

“Oh, man, you should really know better by now,” Sam teases before answering. “But, uh, no, I don’t really have any plans, perse, but I have to finish a case briefing by 11:59pm.” Sam can’t put his finger on why, but Gabriel looks a bit disappointed.

“Oh,” he says simply. “That anything like an essay?”

“Kind of?” Sam replies. “Just as annoying at least.” Gabriel nods before looking down at his watch and frowning.

“Ah, shit, I gotta go. Dick’ll have my ass if I’m back from break late again.”

“There has to be a better way to say that.” 

“Not in my world, kiddo,” he winks then turns toward the door. Sam huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes. The bell jingles when Gabriel opens the door, and with a final wave he’s gone. Sam sighs and goes back to the lack-of-work he was doing before Gabriel got there, which basically consists of cleaning the counters (which takes five minutes) and counting the tiles. _It’s gonna be a long day_ , he thinks. _Until tomorrow, I guess_.

**Wednesday**

Dean coming in early on Wednesday to “meet the missus” was—in Sam’s stupid, hopeful mind—supposed to be a joke. Alas, his asshole of a brother strolls into the coffee-shop five minutes before Gabriel's supposed to get there with a shit-eating, _gotcha_ grin. The grin lasts all of two minutes before Dean is passed out at an empty table— _all_ of the tables are empty—because, really, it's only eight in the morning and Dean's not a fan of “A.M.” in general. Sam sighs in short-lived relief that perhaps Dean will just sleep through his interaction with Gabriel, but seconds later Sam wishes his brother _were_ awake to witness whatever the Hell is happening.

Rather than the usual loud voice that simultaneously annoys Sam and causes him to feel like a lovesick teenager being the first thing he hears at eight in the morning, a man with brown hair dark enough to be mistaken for black and soul-searching blue eyes walks in looking ruffled and fixing Sam with an uncomfortably intense gaze. Sam isn't sure what to do about this unwarranted staring contest that doesn't end no matter how many times he blinks.

“I come with news from Gabriel,” he finally declares as if he's about to reveal a military-grade secret, in a voice that makes Sam think he's either over-compensating or gargles gravel every morning. “He's told me his boss is a “dick” and should be “eradicated” from Earth,” he says, complete with physically motioned quotation marks. “In other words, Mr. Roman has changed his break hours from eight to nine in the morning to two to three in the afternoon. Janitorial staff are apparently desired much earlier in the day this year,” with every word Sam can physically feel his heart drop and wants to kick the cliche, lovesick idiot of his heart while it's down because of _course_ the only break Gabriel will receive is an hour after Sam is already cooped up in his apartment cramming for tests and threatening open word documents to fill before his eyes. Before he can respond—what could he even _say_ —the man hands him a piece of paper with a neatly written number laid across it. “He says he hopes you'll take the invitation to call him, though from the way he speaks of you I imagine he's hoping for a proposal,” words continue to fail Sam as he clutches the notebook paper in his hand as if it holds a rare document written in ink made of pure gold.

“Thank you,” Sam finally gets out, once again looking at the man whose intensity seems to have only grown since approaching the counter. “You must be his younger brother,” the man’s face scrunches in confusion. “He, uh, talks about you sometimes. Never mentioned a name but-”

“Cas?” The voice of Sam’s brother is blurred with sleep and slightly muffled by the hand scrubbing at his eyes but is still apparent with confusion. The man— _Cas,_ apparently—replaces his disgruntled expression with a seemingly pleasant surprise.

“Dean, I didn’t expect to see you here,” the confusion returns as he frowns. “Or anywhere with the term “vegan” in its title, for that matter,” he seems to come to a realization as he turns back to Sam. “Oh, so you’re Dean’s Sam as well. I’m Castiel, his, ah,” he seems to falter with an adequate description. “Roommate,” he finally lands on, though there’s a slight deterrence to his tone. “He speaks highly of you, unless it’s a Tuesday, though I suspect that has to do with the fact that he doesn’t see you.”

“Uh,” Sam manages after a few moments of delayed comprehension. “Well, yeah, Dean _is_ prone to cranky old man syndrome,” Cas smiles slightly and Dean seems to sober from his tired state.

“I refuse to be tormented by you two at eight in the frigging morning,” he says, making his way toward the counter with eyes still on Castiel. “Which leads me to my next question. Cas, I’ve never seen you up before eleven, and even then I gotta get two cups in you before you say “good morning”,” Castiel simply shrugs. 

“Gabriel promised me that if I made the attempt to “get him laid” I wouldn’t be subject to his bullshit for a week,” there’s a thoughtful look to Dean before he continues. “I included you in his promise of abstinence, by the way,” as a picture is painted in front of him Sam realizes with something akin to horror that Dean and Gabriel somehow _already_ know each other. The same realization seems to be dawning on his brother.

“Oh, Hell no!” is what Dean finally spits out after a moment of fish-like gaping. “You can’t like _that_ asshole. He’s-he’s a tricksy son of a bitch with a superiority complex!” Castiel mutters a, “That’s my brother,” but there’s no heat and just a hint of _yeah, you're not wrong._

“ _Look_ ,” Sam finally cuts in-between Dean's breakdown. “I can’t disagree with him being an asshole. The guy’s put salt in my coffee three times since I met him and paprika another four. One time he waxed poetry about _himself_ , though that was mostly a joke,” he exaggerates the _mostly_ in his head. There are people you know are just looking for a laugh when they say the Mona Lisa pales in contrast to the artistic integrity of their dick and then there’s Gabriel. “But he’s passionate and sincere and, man, he makes me _laugh_.”

“Alright, alright. Calm down Jessica Rabbit,” Dean looks like he’s going through a tragedy that he doesn't expect to make it through. “Guess you can’t use your hour excuse anymore, huh?” Before Sam can mutter out, “Guess not.” Dean’s cradling his head in his own hands. “I can already hear the “I’m fucking your little brother” taunts,” Castiel puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Y’know, I haven’t even called the guy,” Sam points out, but Dean’s already too far gone into whatever Hell-like universe he’s imagining.

“Please, Sam,” Dean sighs wearily. “Gabriel has about _zero_ patience and he’s waited _three months_ for you to get your shit together. Plus, the guy needs sugar to _breathe_. Ten minutes in this place should give the guy a conniption,” the weary continues. “How the Hell did you go from people like Brady and Madison to a Goddamn _munchkin_?” Sam’s at a loss for further explanation, but at this point it’s best just to let Dean have his bitch fit. A look of solidarity from Castiel sends the message of, _I also have to put up with the disaster that is Dean Winchester_ , but if the next look toward Dean is anything to go by, Cas sure as Hell doesn’t seem to mind.

“I would like to go back to sleep,” Cas finally speaks over Dean's pained muttering. “If I leave now I’ll still have nearly two and a half hours before you force caffeine and _ante meridiem_ on me,” Dean rolls his eyes, but the movement’s part of a look of unapologetic adoration that Sam hasn’t seen his brother wear in a _long_ time.

“Yeah, yeah, and you probably took a cab because you know your junker wouldn’t make it this far across town,” Castiel squints in a way that Sam can’t decipher from confusion or a glare. “Baby’s out front, don’t try to start her to put on your damn folk crap,” he hands the keys over and that’s an act of trust if Sam’s ever seen one. Cas takes them like it’s a normal phenomena, and with a growing grin Sam realizes it _is._

“It was nice to meet you, Sam,” he says as he’s walking out, Sam agreeing with a head nod and a, “You, too, Cas.” As the bell to the door jingles and the door slams closed, Sam turns his grin on Dean who looks like he’s fighting off his own smile while trying to give a low-tier bitchface.

“So?”

“Shaddup.”

“Are you two-”

“Look,” Dean starts and Sam deflates because _here it comes_ , some bullshit excuse as to why Dean _can't_ or _shouldn't_ be happy. “The guy comes from a really weird, shitty family that don't know love from control. I don't wanna push him into something he can't handle and lose what we already got.”

“That's… actually sort of thoughtful,” Sam brings himself to admit. “But he- man, I've known the dude for five minutes and the way he looks at you? You can't just not try because you're scared. This is something _good_.”

“Well, Samantha, I suggest you take your own advice,” Dean stands, stretching and talking. “Gabriel might be the most annoying little shit I've ever known, but you light up like a damn Christmas tree when you talk about him so you've got my blessing,” the bell of the shop chimes when Dean takes off, leaving Sam gently fondling the piece of notebook paper.

* * *

Eight hours later, Sam is seconds from throwing his laptop out the window of his apartment and giving up on law altogether. His thought process was "I'll finish my case briefing before I call Gabriel so I won't be distracted", but apparently having the number of the guy he's been making heart eyes at for _months_ makes briefing the case seem like torture. Before he can give into the impulse to ruin his life, he feels a buzz in his pocket.

 **impala67** : okay you were right. making excuses sucks, getting my shit together rules [3:20pm]

**sw83** : i'm always right [3:22pm]

**impala67** : name one time [3:27pm]

**sw83** : i literally JUST got you laid [3:29pm]

**impala67** : "laid"? wow. it breaks my heart to see you talk about romance so crudely. what happened to the respectful, well-mannered young man i raised? there's such a thing as class, sammy [3:30pm]

but yeah you totally did [3:30pm]

you call the shorty yet? [3:31pm]

**sw83** : i'm trying to finish this briefing first [3:33pm]

don't wanna be distracted when i talk to him [3:34pm]

**impala67** : sounds like an excuse to me [3:34pm]

**sw83** : okay so if you had a shitload of paperwork to do, due tonight or you're completely screwed, you'd seriously still have talked to cas about feelings beforehand? wouldn't you want to be completely there, not thinking about work? [3:36pm]

**impala67** : i'm not like you. i can think about something other than work [3:37pm]

**sw83** : har dee har har [3:37pm]

**impala67** : plus, dick > paperwork [3:38pm]

**sw83** : i hate you so much [3:39pm]

**impala67** : seriously man [3:40pm]

just fucking do it [3:40pm]

**sw83** : how are you being more emotionally competent than me rn? [3:41pm]

**impala67** : i've been enlightened [3:42pm]

**sw83** : you're in the afterglow [3:43pm]

**impala67** : e n l i g h t e n e d [3:43pm]

**sw83** : fine, fine, i'm doing it [3:44pm]

**impala67** : good luck, bitch [3:45pm]

**sw83** : tell castiel i said hi, jerk [3:45pm]

Slowly but surely, he types Gabriel's number into his cellphone. After thirty seconds of hovering his thumb over "CALL" like a coward, he finally clicks the button. The phone only rings twice before someone on the other side picks up. “I'm not sure if calling you the same day I get your number could be read as desperate but I kind of am so,” Sam gets out before “hello”s can even be exchanged.

“Desperate for me or just desperate for someone?” Gabriel asks, serious in a way Sam's never heard before.

“You,” Sam gets the word out a quick, breathy laugh. “Definitely you.”

“Good. Okay, good,” there's a shaky laugh. “Sorry about that, I just don't wanna be the only head-over-heels idiot. It's not good for my rep,” Sam rolls his eyes, though it certainly is a comfort to know he’s not the only one acting like a lovestruck teenager.

“Apparently your rep is “trickster munchkin asshole” so I don't think it could get any worse,” Gabriel laughs and not even the shitty phone call quality can ruin that sound.

“Yeah, I got a text from Dean earlier. Something along the lines of “your crush is my dumbass brother, hurt him and you die”. Small fucking world I guess.”

“Small world, indeed.”

“Is that another height joke? Your comedy repertoire is lacking.”

“I guess I could stand to expand my range. Maybe… on a date. Tonight.”

“Don’t you have an essay due tonight?” Sam glances at his barely-started case annotations.

“It’s, uh, mostly finished." Gabriel snorts in response to that and Sam curses himself for not being a better liar.

“Tell ya what, Sasquatch. You call me if you finish before five, and I’ll drop whatever I’m doing and treat you to some _real_ coffee. Otherwise, I’m free for dinner tomorrow night.”

“That sounds good. Really good. I’ll, uh, I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Sam hangs up the phone with a smile on his face. The case briefings don't seem so daunting anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this in april 2018 and am so happy to have finally finished it. i hope you enjoyed it <3


End file.
